Confusing Possibly Drug Addled Mindfuckery

Seth Harp, in his book The Fort Bragg Cartel: Drug Trafficking and Murder in the Special Forces, mentions four Army wives who were murdered in 2002 by their husbands in Fayetteville and how these deaths were first attributed to the drug Lariam (or mefloquine) because all the soldiers took this anti-malarial medicine while in Afghanistan and the possible side-effects of the medicine are hallucinations, psychosis, aggression, anxiety, and paranoia but Seth Harp believes that this attribution to Lariam is a cover-up and that these soldiers were experiencing PTSD and they were also doing all kinds of other (illegal) drugs such as cocaine, meth, molly and bath salts . . . but to make this more confusing, Lariam was pronounced very dangerous by the FDA in 2013-- the issued a "Black Box" warning and notified users that they could experience permanent neurological damage, suicidal thoughts and psychosis from the drug-- and to make this even MORE confusing, your narrator himself might be compromised and unable to write this sentence-- because my wife and I took Lariam in 1999 when we went to the Cuyabeno jungle basin in Ecuador-- a well-meaning doctor in Metuchen prescribed it to us and once we started taking it, we experienced paranoia, technicolor dreams of giant spiders, and lots of anxiety-- but when stopped taking it, at the advice of some Germans out in the jungle with us-- when I asked them what they were taking for malaria, they said, "vee take nothink"-- so once we stopped taking the pills, these chaotic feelings subsided and we had a much better time (except when my wife went to the outhouse, put her flashlight down, sat to pee, and something shot out of the darkness and attached itself to her chest-- she shrieked, flung the creature, and ran out of the outhouse with her pants at her ankles-- and  upon inspection, we found that a giant tree frog, maybe a foot long, had suction cupped itself to her shirt . . . good times) and so now I don't know what to think about this drug and the murders but I still believe it fucked us up mentally and possibly could have done the same to these soldiers.

Malcolm Fucking Gladwell

There's nothing like the ephemeral and fleeting promise of a Malcolm Gladwell book: at the start, you truly believe when you are finished, you will understand how the world works; twenty-five years ago The Tipping Point explained how ideas moved through the society with mavens, connectors, and salesmen-- and how these people operated within the boundaries of The Law of the Few, The Law of Context, and The Stickiness Factor-- good fun and while in retrospect, these ideas only explain a few specific anecdotal incidents, reading Gladwell is still a blast-- you just have to take things with a grain of salt, check his facts, and try to apply his broad theory to some other events to see if it's true-- his new one, Revenge of the Tipping Point, is equally compelling-- Gladwell is an excellent and concise story-teller . . . this time he's explaining how epidemics happen-- how superspreaders can enlarge small area variation and how media events can change the narrative, or "overstory" as he calls it-- and while you might sometimes forget how this is all supposed to hang together, he weaves wonderful narratives about a rash of L.A. bank robberies, COVID, the opioid crisis, the Magic Third, racial redlining, Harvard admissions and obscure sports, and TV events about the Holocaust and gay marriage and they all add up to some idea about something profound which may or may not apply to the rest of the overstories of our time and culture.

Busy Half Day (Off)

Grueling day: online traffic court with my son Ian for his hydroplaning incident-- the case was adjourned because he still has a probationary license . . . he never updated it and to plead down a ticket, you need ot have a full license-- so back to the DMV before we can do Zoom Court all over again; then we went and picked up Ian's new (used) car in East Brunswick-- a 2012 Honda Accord that seems to house no roaches or spiders; then over to New Brunswick to pick up Alex-- it's a zoo over there right now because of all the returning students-- and then a sushi lunch with the boys at Pi's in Highland Park and now it's time for a nap.

Lo & Behold! David Playeth Around the Pole!

In the Book of Acts, God instructs Ananias to meet Saul on "the street that is called Straight" in Damascus-- Mark Twain calls this the only joke in the Bible-- because Straight Street is a actually a winding road, so though it is called Straight, it is actually serpentine-- hysterical in the context of that book-- and sometimes, whence the street is not straight then you must wind how you may . . . such as when David smote the pickleball that was travelling very wide and thus David smoteth the ball around the net-pole and into the field of play, making David victorious both in the eyes of God and the eyes of men.

Car Shopping with Ian, Carmine, One Roach, and Several Spiders

We are currently car shopping for a piece-of-shit-that-baresly-accelerates for my son Ian-- who recently hydroplaned and consequently totaled my wife's lovely and quite nimble Mazda CX-5-- and so we've been looking at reliable cars in the 4K range, which seem to be 2007 and 2008 Honda Accords-- yesterday we went to Keyport, to a little auto dealer on the side of Route 35-- near the strip bars-- and test drove a 2008 Accord . . . and aside from the roach on the ceiling (which Ian brushed onto my head, causing me to leap out of the car) and the spiders in the trunk (and the cracked shift box case and the floppy sun visor) the car was in decent shape-- and Ian, Carmine, and I took it on a test drive-- Carmine is the son of Mel (as is Mel Jr.) and a sister is working there as well-- I didn't catch her name-- but it's a family affair, and they're all working in an office half the size of my living room (and I don't have a big living room) and so on our test drive Carmine asked if we could run an errand? and I said "sure!" and we headed over to Mavis Tires (which involved a convoluted sequence of turns and a U-turn) and the Carmine said-- in his Long Island accent-- "If I'm gone for more than a minute, you can drive away" and I told him "no rush, I'm not planning on stealing this car" then he proceeded to have a spirited convo with a Mavis employee in the parking lot about the price of some tire sensors and then he got back in and he said, "they try to whack ya for deez sensas . . . I can only buy wholesale but ya gotta I need them right now" and then we drove a bit more and we couldn't get the radio to work and Carmine promised he would get the radio to work-- he said he's "put it in writing" and then we got down to brass tacks with his dad, Mel, about the price-- Mel Sr. had certainly smoked cigarettes for five or six decades (he had a pack of Marlboro Reds on his desk) and he had the voice to prove it-- and Mel said Carmine was nuts, that he couldn't fix that radio but maybe the mechanic could on Monday and then Mel proceeded to Google some of the broken parts on eBay and show us how cheap they were-- a new plastic gearbox cover for 18 dollars, a working sun visor for 12 bucks, and he even showed us some options for replacing the stereo and then he started telling us the story about how he got a ticket and got the charge reduced in traffic court but they STILL put points on his license-- they fucked him and then his car insurance fucked him over-- and then the sister was telling us about a traffic ticket she got and then they were talking about Carmine's ticket and I managed to bring the negotiation to an end and told them we'd call on Monday and see if they got the stereo working and go from there . . . car shopping is a grueling experience.

Y'all Ready For This? Probably Not

My new episode of We Defy Augury, "Y'all Ready For This?" is (loosely) inspired by S.A. Cosby's Southern noir novel The King of Ashes and Tana French's wild tale of undercover infiltration The Likeness-- I explore the idea that reading (and perhaps acting, according to Val Kilmer) might train your mind-- in the comfort of your own home-- to tackle life's most wild and weird and disturbing situations . . .particularly 1

1) going undercover and assuming someone else's identity;

2) violent warfare to protect one's family.

Teamwork and Lots of Experience

I made it to 6:30 AM basketball this morning, despite a hip flexor strain- and I shot fairly well from VERY deep but couldn't make space to take any reasonable shots-- but the most exciting moment was when Frank Noppenberger-- the venerable AD from many years ago-- and I combined to rebound a ball under the basket . . . that rebound was gathered by a combined 126 years of decaying athleticism.

Giving Zero Fucks, In a Good Way (Educationally)

Today was my thirty-first "first day of school" as a teacher-- I told them the rules, summarized the course sequence, learned some names, and did a fun icebreaker activity . . . and I am pleased to announce that I've reached the stage in my career where I had exactly zero first-day jitters, nervousness, or anxiety.

The Canadian Allman Brothers?

If you love the Allman Brothers but you've worn out the grooves on their oeuvre, then you could give "Dickie Betts" by the Dean Ween Group a listen-- no surprise that those guys did an Allman Brothers Tribute . . . or-- more surprisingly-- you could listen to "Making Memories" by Rush . . . I've been going through their discology lately and the tone and sound of this track kind of shocked me (in a good way).

Talking Turkey

On the drive home from my mother's house in Monroe yesterday evening, we saw a bunch of wild turkeys crossing the road and the rest of the car ride home, my wife educated me on the many names for groups of turkeys and the names for various age classifications of turkeys . . . this shit is fucking absurd: baby turkeys are called "poults" . . . which maybe has something to do with poultry? . . . and juvenile male and female turkeys are called, respectively: "jakes" and "jennies" . . . and adult male turkeys are called "toms" or "gobblers"-- and then there are a shitload of names for a group of turkeys-- a group of young males is called a "gang" or a "posse" or a "mob" . . . and if it's just a random flock of turkeys, it could be a "gobble" of turkeys or a "rafter" of turkeys or a "brood" of turkeys . . . and I'm certainly skipping a few terms, like "longbeard' and "bearded hen" but it's all a bit overwhelming-- this is ONE kind of bird!-- but I know the turkey is a very important American bird, consumed with great zeal and relish on Thanksgiving and famously preferred over the bald eagle as a national bird by Ben Franklin-- Franklin thought the turkey was a respectable bird of Courage . . . after my wife explained all these various terms-- which I immediately forgot-- she found some other internet compendium of names for groups of every kind of bird . . . I don't know who uses these terms or when, but this list is way beyond "a murder of crows" . . . the only two I can still recall is a "charm" of finches . . . and that is a good one to remember because the goldfinch is the New Jersey state bird, and-- for obvious reasons-- I am also partial to a "squadron of pelicans."

Preparing for Reentry . . . Time to Pedal Up the Hill

Time to reenter the working world . . . and I am also noticing that the big difference between biking here in Highland Park vs. biking at the beach is that around here we have hills . . . so you actually have to pedal, you can't just coast over to Happy Hour, have a few drinks and then coast home and go to sleep, without a care in the world . . . but I guess hills and work are a good thing? because they make you stronger? and feel purposeful? and when you reach the top of the hill-- or the end of a work day-- you feel fulfilled? . . . we shall see.

Ugh . . . Wake Me Up For Thanksgiving Break

So that's that . . . our beach vacation is over, and it's time to get back to the ol' routine: I'm fat from eating and drinking in goblin mode for a month (and not walking or running up and down any hills . . . the beach is very flat) but I got up early this morning, drove down to Hamilton and played pickleball with my brother (and jammed my hip somewhat . . . we'll see if the naproxen fixes that issue) and now I've got to clean some toilets, prove to my mortgage lender that I have hazard insurance, put away laundry, figure out what the fuck I'm doing in school next week, and eat a bunch of salad . . . wake me up when September end (and allergy season is over: my nose is a bit stuffy since I returned to Highland Park-- apparently there's a lot less pollen and ragweed at the beach). 

Dave Returns to Central Jersey (with very little fanfare)

My wife and I packed up our little pad in Ocean Grove this morning-- after another great beach day with friends on Friday-- and we drove back to Central Jersey . . . and we were pleasantly surprised to enter a clean house . . . Ian completed all his chores (he even put up a new magnetic screen on our back porch slider, so our dog can go in and out at will) and so my wife and I were able to get down to the rest of it: we put away all the beach stuff; my wife went down to her garden and planted seeds and harvested vegetables; I went to the gym for the first time in a month; I gave the dog a bath . . . also for the first time in a month; and while I loved living at the beach, it does feel good to be home-- while we definitely do not live in a large house, it seems like a mansion, after existing in a tiny space for a while-- it was also nice to use my big foam roller to sraighten out my back . . . the vacation bed was very mushy and my spine is out of whack . . . this was a fantastic summer (aside from when Ian totalled my wife's car-- but, luckily, I was at the beach with my college buddies for that hydroplaning escapade, and my family didn't tell me what happened until I got home) wherin I spent over a month close to the ocean-- but now it's time for school . . . and a visit to the dermatologist, I took a lot of sun over the last two months.

The Boys of Summer Have Gone

We leave the beach tomorrow, and the reality of work is rearing its ugly head- but Catherine and I had a great Thursday night out: we went to the R Bar for dollar oysters and sat upstairs-- very festive-- and then we saw my buddy bob play music at Mutiney Beach-- he plays bass in a band with an incredible uke player . . . they did reggae versions of several Pink Floyd songs-- and then we had one last sourdough pizza at Talula's; this morning we went stand-up paddleboarding in Manasquan-- we paddled past Fisherman's Cove and across the Glimmer Glass Lake to the train bridge . . . no wind and it was lovely and it really made me want to get another paddleboard-- I think mine deflated in 2019?--  it was a relaxing way to spend our last full morning . . . and I am now about to drag the wagon to the beach for one last beach day of summer-- and there are limited lifeguards because the kids have left for college or started high school sports . . . it's the beginning of the end.

My Dog is NOT a Valiant and Courageous Leader (but she plays one on TV)

This moment on the jetty at the dog beach in Asbury Park is probably the most epic and badass and commanding our pooch Lola has ever been depicted-- she is one regal beagle! she could run for president!-- you should see the other photos I took, they are trash: several of her yawning and the rest she is looking the wrong direction-- but perhaps she knew that this was her last trip to the dog beach for a while, as our beach vacation is winding down, and so she had to produce one singular image so she could remember the good times fondly (and fictitiously, as nothing is more meretricious than a portrait).

Kids . . . They are Full of Germs

I thought I was going to return home today for the first time in over three weeks, to pick up Ian and bring him to the beach-- but he's running a fever and his throat hurts . . . and then my son Alex, who was also supposed to come for a few days with his girlfriend, called me and told me he and Ava are both running fevers and have sore throats and all their friends have strep so they are going to the Healtch Center tomorrow morning to get tested and get some antibiotics-- apparently everyone returned to college with various viruses and germs, and they partied and went to concerts and basement shows and bars and hung out in small apartments and dorm rooms and got each other sick-- so while my wife got up early this morning and brought some stuff home and then headed to her classroom to get it set up (with the help of my cousin Kim) I spent a quiet and contemplative (and slighly hungover) day at the beach . . . I walked the boardwalk and took a bike ride to Jody & Jodee's Fish Market, where they serve all kinds of fish sandwiches-- I had a red snapper sandwich and it was delicious and this place is quite a scene-- it's a bit inland, on Route 35, and while beach clientele come in to buy fresh seafood, the lunch crowd was blue-collar and very salt-of-the-earth and very chatty-- they discussed ghosts and shootings and poltics (both sides are liars) and proper uses for ketchup (NOT on seafood) and everything looked excellent and I will return . . . hopefully, I will return to many of these spots that I discovered on this long vacation . . . and I'm also very thankful that I did not contract any illnesses from the many visitors we had-- because I'm about to wade into a sea of high school students and all the various germs that they harbor.

Last Taco Tuesday!

Next Tuesday is looming in the minds of teachers everywhere . . . first comes Labor Day Weekend, then comes labor-- but there's still some summer left (as Soder explained last night, we still have TWO Thanksgiving breaks worth of summer before school begins) and so we celebrated our last "taco Tuesday" at Barrio Costero-- Styacey, Chantal, Soder, and Terry and his family joined us for the finale-- Catherine and I attended every taco Tuesday in August (and Stacey made it to three of them) and they saved the best for last-- and apparently they have a chef's meeting on Monday about what tacos to serve on Tuesday-- we had, in order: steak, black bean and corn masa, chicken in some kind of birria sauce and last night was pork carnitas-- delicious-- and after tacos we went to the Black Swan to take advantage of all-day happy hour and then we tried to go to Johnny Mac's for free pizza but they wouldn't let Stacey and Chantal in- no ID-- we were like WTF? we're all over forty here-- but no dice-- so we went to the Bond Street bar for a final beverage and a discussion of how weird feet are (and how weird people who are into feet are) and then we wandered the streets of Ocean Grove, looking at the Victorian architecture and the Methodist tent city-- and the next time I will see those folks, our lives will be dictated by bells.

Genius New Game to Accompany Wordle!

I am sure many of you-- as I do-- start your day by playing "Wordle," but "Wordle" needs a sister game, a game that comes out at 9 PM every evening, and this game should be called "What the Fuck was Wordle?" and to achieve it in one guess, you have to remember what the fuck Wordle was without any prompting-- and then-- if you can't recall what the fuck Wordle was-- there should be prompts, like my wife did for me last night, when I decided that I must have forgotten to do Wordle (I had not forgotten, I just had true Wordle amnesia) and she said, "this thing is in horror movies" and I was like: "ghost, creep, foggy, scare" and then she said, "it's alive but not an animal" and I said: "fungi?" and then she said, "it's very small" and I said: "spore," which was correct-- but I still had to check Wordle to see if that was really the word because I did not remember guessing it . . . so you're welcome, New York Times!

Doggelganger

I am currently reading Tana French's murder mystery The Likeness-- which begins with Detective Cassie Maddox encountering a murder victim that looks exactly like her and has also assumed her undercover identity from years previous . . . it's super-creepy-- and then this morning, when my wife and I were walking the Asbury Boardwalk with her family, we stumbled upon this mural which is a likeness of our dog Lola: we're going to have to get her over there and take a photo with her in front of it, but it's definitely her doggelganger . . . pretty weird (and I thought of the word "doggelganger" on my own, when I typed the word "doppelganger" it came to me but of course the internet already thought of it . . . stupid fucking internet).

 

Salt Life Continues

While my wife has driven back home a few times-- to tend her garden and do laundry and run some errands-- I have not left the beach in three weeks, so this is the longest amount of time I've spent outside of Highland Park since our cross-country trip many years ago . . . it's going to be strange to return home in a week and reoccupy my usual haunts and spaces, and I think I will appreciate everything more (as long as the weather doesn't turn hot and humid, if the weather turns hot and humid I'm going to be very angry).